


Come on Home

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [35]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Sings, Domestic, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Series, Songfic, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A milestone is reached seven years after moving and settling down in Chicago. Dean takes Sam out to celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come on Home

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to "come on home" by indigenous while you read this. <3

It looks like a brewery and a restaurant until Dean grabs Sam's hand and pulls in him.

Past double French doors, away from the patio and the street, the scenery changes. Concrete and brick take over. Light is replaced with milky, smokey low light and the shine of clean wine glasses. The stairs creak when stepped on. A bouncer shakes Dean's hand and Sam knows that a fifty has been slipped. Maybe a couple of fifties. 

An entire corner of the VIP section has been reserved for just the two of them. Sectioned off by velvet rope, it's in a corner of what looks like one large upper level balcony. The stage is below them, but within good distance. Dean orders a bottle of champagne. 

One large, frosted bottle is brought over for Mr. Winchester. 

This used to be an abandoned city building. No one used it for twenty years until the current owners bought it cheap from the city of Chicago. Rebuilt, redone, and repurposed, the building looks completely out of sorts on it's sleepy street just outside downtown Chicago. 

Sam has never seen or been in this place until now. He leans against the solid wood railing and peers out at the stage. The floor is packed. Humidity tries to touch them up here, but they're too far away and too busy drinking. The champagne is popped; two glasses are poured. Sweet, crisp, and slow--that's the way Dean kisses Sam after the first drink. The champagne isn't bad, either.

Freckled, calloused hands frame Sam's face. He leans into the touch, stepping forward, smoothing out the lapels on Dean's jacket.

He got home today and Dean was there, dressed like a million dollars.

In a perfectly tailored and fitted, dark gray suit, Dean held his hand out to Sam and invited him inside their home. "Get dressed," had been murmured into Sam's ear. "Clothes are on the bed."

One hand moves from Sam's face to his hips. Sam wore every piece that had been laid out for him. 

Black silk is fingered through wool.

The pattern has been memorized.

What little light is dimmed inside the venue. A string of faint Christmas lights over the VIP bar is all that's left for a moment, before the stage lights turn on. The bare bones stage is bathed in fuschia, navy, violet, and brilliant white. When the band walks out, they bask in the warm wash of watercolor azure. 

Dean slips his right arm around Sam's waist. They stand side by side for the first song. Another flute is placed into Sam's hand. Two pulls later and Sam can feel how fine Dean's suit is.

It fits his shoulders just right. Not a wrinkle in sight. Soon enough, song by song, Dean is dark blue.

He's wearing an indigo tie. The suit is a charcoal gray. His shirt is just a shade away from black. A silver tie pin sparkles near a place on Dean's chest Sam has laid his head on many times before. 

Another smooth of his hands up and down Dean's lapels, Sam's fingertips brush over a flower loop stitch. South, he grazes over two buttons, which are slick and polished. Enamel buttons. Hand sewn jacket. Guitar and drums play with soul from the stage as Sam plays with the rhythmic rise and fall of Dean's chest. 

Hunters are made of skin, bone, flesh, and blood. There's not much to them. 

They've been wearing suits since they were teenagers. Polyester only does so much to protect the cartilage underneath.

Who leans in first doesn't matter.

Dean is made out of skin, bone, flesh, and blood. Sam used to miss the feel of his skin beside him at night. He used to mend Dean's bones. He's craved the flesh and cemented their blood.

Welded together, Dean kisses him like it's that motel room all over again. The first time. 

Fingers curl in Sam's hair. The song changes, the tempo slows, and the air becomes heavy. Before Sam knows it, they're swaying. One, two, three.

This is how it's meant to be for them. 

Cheek to cheek, Dean's voice rumbles. 

"I've been up down this road for a million, a million miles." No other voice exists. "I feel like I'm chasing the sun. I wanna slow down, for just a little while." A hand over the small of Sam's back pulls him in. Champagne and cologne are breathed in. "So come on home, you're all I know. You're in my soul, I'll never let go."

This is a celebration.

Of all the skin, bone, flesh, and blood they haven't lost.

Concrete and brick soak up the heat that surrounds them. Silver presses against Sam's hip. He never takes it off. Neither of them do.

All Sam ever wanted to do was hold Dean's hand. Kissing was easy. Holding Dean, in any capacity Sam has known how, hasn't been.

But he learned.

"So please take my hand. Show me what you need." Dean squeezes their hands. "Put all your worries behind cause right beside you is where I'll be."

They paid the house off. In seven years it's a done deal. No one else owns it. No one can take it away from them. Not even Death. It'll be theirs long, long after.

A different kiss is placed on the tip of Sam's nose. Their foreheads bump.

Green eyes meet his.

"Come on home, you're all I know. You're in my soul, I'll never let go. Over and over again, through the falling rain."

Sam holds onto Dean and Dean holds on right back.

"Come on home, you're all I know. In my soul, all I know, all I know."

Everything goes quiet when the song ends. If his heart stopped right now...

Sam would be grateful.

But it doesn't stop. Neither does Dean's.

Their hearts beat for a long time after, over and over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Written and uploaded on my phone pls forgive mistakes. 
> 
> I'm going through some tough health issues at the moment y'all. All I have the energy for atm are Drabbles for this verse. Please be patient with me for everything else. Things will get updates I promise. :)
> 
> Enjoy this fic. I love Indigenous. What a great band. ;w;
> 
> Who requested the boys in suits? I've got a terrible memory. Whomever did, this is for you! :D


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